


Just Breathe

by BlaiddGwyn (dragonLeighs)



Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pneumonia, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Sickfic, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26992633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonLeighs/pseuds/BlaiddGwyn
Summary: After being tackled by a drowner while trying to protect Ciri, Jaskier ends up narrowly ecaping with his life. He seems fine in the hours following but it soon becomes clear things are taking a turn for the worst.Now Geralt has to get them out of the swamp and to a healer before it's too late for the bard.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947397
Comments: 6
Kudos: 128
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1st chapter is for day 13 prompt " ~~chemical~~ pneumonia". Second chapter will be for day 29 "reluctant bedrest".
> 
> Originally this was going to be delayed drowning but after a bit of googling, I decided that probably wouldn't be survivable under these circumstances and as much as I like to whump my boy, I don't want to kill him. I know the prompt is technically _chemical_ pneumonia, but I hope this works just as well.

The attack had come out of nowhere. One moment Ciri had been walking beside Jaskier with Roach while Geralt led them from ahead, the next a drowner surged up from the deep pool of water beside the path. It had come straight for Geralt who had luckily sensed it coming just in time to unsheathe his sword and relieve it of its head.

More had appeared then, emerging from the water on either side of the swampy path. Jaskier grabbed her, pulling her away from the main fight where Geralt was. She noticed he had a silver dagger in one hand. She hadn’t seen it on him before and wondered where it came form. She didn’t have long to wonder though as a drowner was suddenly coming toward them.

Jaskier stepped in front of her, brandishing the short silver blade. When the drowner was in range, he swiped his dagger across its front, a line of black ichor oozing out of the gash. The monster gave an ear splitting shriek, stepping back briefly before charging again. Jaskier attacked again, managing to stab it in the neck. It fell with a squelch on the sodden ground. Both he and Ciri were too distracted to notice the second drowner.

The monster crawled out of the water and barrelled into Jaskier, knocking him into the murky water on the other side of the path. They fell in with a splash and Ciri screamed his name. Geralt couldn’t help him, he was too far away and still busy with the majority of the drowners.

After checking her surroundings for any more approaching drowners, she stared, transfixed at the surface of the water, still rippling with the impact. She hoped Jaskier still had his knife and could get into a position to use it. If he had dropped it, there was next to no chance he would be able to find it in the murky waters.

The sounds of fighting were dying down further down the path, but still Jaskier showed no signs of reappearing. Surely he wouldn’t be able to hold his breath much longer.

Something finally breached the surface, splashing and gasping. It took Ciri a second to realise it was the bard, soaked in dirty water and covered in some kind of sludge. “Jaskier!” she cried as he began to swim back to the path. She helped to pull him up onto the bank and he lay on his back, still coughing, his breath coming in gasps.

Eventually Geralt made his way over to them as the last drowner fell to his sword. “Are either of you hurt?” he asked, crouching down by Jaskier to help him sit up. Jaskier shook his head, still trying to take in a steady breath while Ciri only gave a small “No.”

“We need to move. Set up camp somewhere so you can get dry. Can you walk?”

“Give me a minute,” he croaked before succumbing to another bout of coughing.

“Did you inhale any of the water?”

“Just a little.”

It took another five minutes for Jaskier to finally calm his breathing enough for Geralt to be satisfied that they could get going. Roach luckily hadn’t run away during the fight, only having moved back down the path a little. It was too dangerous for anyone to ride her across the waterlogged ground so they all continued on foot.

Ciri couldn’t help but notice Jaskier shivering as they walked. She wanted to hug him but resisted the urge, not wanting to get her own clothes dirty and wet and stinking of stagnant water. She noticed Geralt trying to sneak concerned glances at the bard every time his teeth started chattering. The leaves had started turning weeks ago and there was a definite chill in the air with the promise of winter edging ever closer.

After an hour of slowly making their way through the swamp they finally came across a patch of land that was relatively dry. Setting up camp didn’t take long. There wasn’t enough dry fuel for a fire so they would have to go without. Jaskier finally got the chance to strip out of his ruined clothes, wiping away the worst of the dirt still clinging to his skin before changing into something dry. There were a few scratches on his arms and across his back from where the drowner had clawed at him but he seemed remarkably unscathed. Geralt threw a blanket at him and instructed him to stay put until his shivering stopped.

Now that he was clean, or at least not covered in swamp gunk, Ciri took the opportunity to finally hug him, clinging to his side. He still smelt of stagnant water but honestly she’d encountered worse with Geralt. “You scared me earlier.”

“I’m sorry lion cub. But I would do it again to keep you safe.” His voice was still croaky, and the coughing hadn’t entirely gone away.

“Where did you get your dagger from?” she asked, wanting to lighten the mood a little.

“Geralt got it for me a few years ago. Said something about me needing to protect myself when he wasn’t around. Thankfully I’ve not had many reasons to use it.”

“Is that why I’ve never seen it before?”

“Probably. I tend to keep it hidden. Not many expect a bard to be armed and it’s usually best to keep it that way. Gives me the element of surprise.” He managed to choke out the last bit of his sentence before another bout of coughing overcame him.

Ciri wanted to help but wasn’t sure what she could do so she simply stayed pressed against his side. The coughing subsided just as Geralt was returning from his foraging trip. He shot a concerned look at Jaskier but otherwise said nothing. He had managed to find a few berries which supplemented their meagre rations. It would still be another few days until they reached the next town where they could hopefully buy a few more supplies.

The thought of going into somewhere with a lot of people made Ciri’s stomach churn. There was always the fear that someone would recognise her and that Nilfgaard would come. Geralt had assured her many times that this far north people would be unlikely to help Nilfgaard, regardless of any reward they had offered. It did little to settle her mind, but she also knew buying supplies was a necessity.

* * *

They were early to rise the next morning, the sun barely rising above the horizon. Ciri had only just opened her eyes when Jaskier began coughing. It started off as nothing to be concerned about but quickly grew in force. It showed no signs of stopping anytime soon, forcing him to sit up to draw in any breath. Geralt was up and by his side at this point, resting a hand on his back. Ciri could see the concern on his face as he watched Jaskier.

Eventually the coughing did subside, though not completely, allowing Jaskier to take in a measured breath. Then another. While Jaskier simply breathed, Geralt turned his golden eyes to Ciri. “Could you get a waterskin for him.”

Ciri was up instantly, searching through the pack that usually held the waterskins. She picked one up at random and rushed back, passing it to Geralt’s outstretched hand. He uncorked it before handing it to the bard, advising him to only take small sips. The water did seem to help a little and his ragged breathing finally settled into a slight wheeze.  
“We need to get a move on,” Geralt said once he was satisfied Jaskier wasn’t about to start coughing up a lung again.

Their camp was packed quickly. They ate a small ration of slightly stale bread as they walked. For a while they all forgot about Jaskier’s coughing fit. That was until it started again. It was deep and chesty and Ciri could tell it must be hurting him. It would come and go but he never seemed to truly shake it off, his breaths coming in shallow gasps, as though he’d been running all day.

Geralt stopped them around midday for a break. He handed them both small rations but Jaskier refused his, claiming he wasn’t hungry. Geralt lay his hand against Jaskier’s damp forehead then. His hum gave little away to Ciri, but Jaskier seemed to understand the sound as his eyes widened slightly. “Is it that bad?”

“Can’t tell yet. Eat,” he said, taking the bard’s hand and forcing him to take the food. Jaskier did nibble at his rations, managing about half of it before giving up and handing it back to Geralt. The witcher was less than pleased but seemed placated by his attempt.

Then they were off again and Jaskier only seemed to continue to get worse. The coughing fits came more frequently, often resulting in him spitting up phlegm. He started lagging behind, despite their relatively sedate pace. At one point he had to stop, bent with his hands on his knees as he hacked up yet more phlegm. Geralt had to grab him before he keeled over and landed in the water yet again when he got lightheaded. He hadn’t moved from his side since.

They finally came to a stop for the day when Geralt found them another clearing high enough to not be saturated with water. As the sun was setting, the temperature dropped. And yet, Jaskier was still visibly sweating. They set up their bedrolls and resigned themselves to yet another night of not enough food. Jaskier barely managed two bites before giving up. They lay with Ciri in the middle again to shelter her from the cold, but Jaskier struggled, unable to breath at all lying down. He kept having to sit up simply to catch his breath.

Geralt got up and grabbed a few of their packs, piling them up behind Jaskier for him to lie on. It wasn’t a perfect solution and certainly didn’t fix the underlying problem but it did seem to help. Geralt and Ciri lay awake, waiting until the bard finally fell asleep, the constant coughing finally subsiding.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the quiet.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him this ill." He felt Ciri tense against him and decided now would probably be a good time to use his words to reassure her. "He’s strong though. He’s not going to give up without a fight.”

* * *

The next day was worse. Ciri and Geralt woke long before Jaskier. Despite them needing to get out of the swamp urgently, Geralt decided Jaskier getting some rest was the priority. When he did wake a couple of hours later, it was with a strangled gasp followed by an intense coughing fit. They had to be careful about rationing their water but Geralt let the bard have a few sips in the hopes it would help.

When his breathing finally settled, Jaskier seemed exhausted and groggy, despite having just woken up. He insisted on trying to get up but didn’t get very far. Geralt pushed him back down with just a hand on his chest, proving how much of his strength had been sapped by his illness.

“You’re not going to be able to walk today, Jaskier,” he said, voice grim.

“So what do you suggest we do? Just sit here until I get better? Because I don’t see that happening any time soon witcher.”

He was right. Even Ciri could see that. Geralt might not have much experience with human illnesses but Ciri did. She had seen a number of people with illnesses similar to Jaskier’s. Some survived. Some did not. “He’s right, Geralt. He needs a healer.”

Geralt sighed, jaw clenched shut. She could tell he was frustrated. There was very little that could be done. Jaskier couldn’t move under his own power but they couldn’t stay here either. The ground was still too uneven to simply throw him on Roach’s back and hope for the best.

Geralt sighed, considering their options. They had to get Jaskier to a healer, there was no argument about that. Finally Geralt sighed again, seemingly coming to a decision. He turned back to Jaskier. “I’m going to have to carry you. At least until it’s safe to ride Roach.”

“Alright,” the bard rasped. Their camp was packed up quickly, Geralt and Ciri making quick work of it while Jaskier was stuck sitting on the ground, coughing. When they were ready to go, Geralt helped Jaskier to his feet, steadying him when he swayed.

“You’re not going to pass out, are you?”

“No, just give me a minute.” He blinked hard several times, as though to clear his vision. Ciri couldn’t imagine barely eating was helping him much. Eventually he nodded his head the slightest amount, letting Geralt know he was alright.

“Right, I’m going to carry you on my back. Do you think you’ll be able to hold on?”

“Probably,” was his raspy response, earning him a hmm from the witcher. Geralt turned his back to him, getting to one knee to make it easier for Jaskier to climb on. With what seemed to be little effort, Geralt stood up when he was sure Jaskier was secure.

“Is this alright?” he asked. Jaskier only nodded, having succumbed to yet another coughing fit which he was trying to muffle in Geralt’s shirt. “Ciri, you take Roach’s reins and follow after me. If we’re attacked again, I won’t be able to do much until I’ve put Jaskier down so if I tell you to run, you run.” He levelled her with a stare. It was rare that he would be this serious with her. She had only seen this side of him a handful of times so she knew he meant it.

“I understand.”

Trekking through the swamp was slow going. Geralt had to make sure he didn’t overbalance in the marshy ground. Roach was resistant to being led by Ciri initially but when the mare realised they were still following Geralt, she seemed to calm down somewhat.

Jaskier was coughing more often than not now. His chest was badly congested and despite all the effort his body seemed to be putting in, it didn’t seem to be clearing. When he wasn’t coughing his breaths came in short gasps, too shallow to really be doing much. He seemed exhausted, letting his eyes drift shut, arms lax around Geralt’s neck. If the coughing was getting on Geralt’s nerves, he didn’t make any indication of it.

They didn’t stop that day. Geralt was determined to get Jaskier to the next town as soon as possible, Ciri sharing that sentiment. At one point Ciri had scrounged up some food from their packs, offering some to both Geralt and Jaskier. Neither had accepted, Jaskier lacking the appetite and Geralt not wanting to have to stop, claiming he would save his for later.

* * *

Just before the sun set, they finally found themselves on solid ground. Geralt woke Jaskier from the uneasy doze he had fallen into so that he could set him down. They could rest a few moments here before continuing. His arms and back ached from carrying Jaskier all day but it was nothing he couldn't deal with. Jaskier and Ciri could do with a short break however.

“How far is the town from here?” Ciri asked as Geralt sat Jaskier on the gound.

“Close. Maybe an hour or -,” he was cut off by Jaskier’s coughing. When it showed no sign of subsiding Geralt crouched by his side, rubbing circles across his back. Still it went on and Jaskier only seemed to grow weaker, his remaining energy rapidly draining. Geralt had to hold him upright, pulling him to rest against his chest while he struggled to breathe. Jaskier gagged from the force of his coughing but nothing came of it.

The coughing only ended when Jaskier finally passed out. Ciri felt her stomach drop when Jaskier’s eyes slipped closed and he went limp against Geralt. The world seemed to go fuzzy as she watched Geralt lift the bard and deposit him on Roach’s back, only snapping back to reality when she felt a hand on her arm.

“Ciri, come on, we need to go. Now,” he said as he lifted her into the saddle behind Jaskier.

“Will he be okay?”

“If we hurry.” With that Geralt grabbed the reins and began jogging, leading them on at a hurried pace.

The ride to the town was rough. Darkness had fallen, making it hard for her eyes to even see the path ahead. Geralt seemed to manage however, leading them on with no hesitation. Jaskier remained unconscious, lying across Roach’s neck. Ciri did her best to keep him from slipping, fists buried in the material of his doublet.

An eternity later, dim lights were finally visible through the trees. Geralt led them to what appeared to be the house of the local healer if the many herbs growing in the garden was anything to go by. Geralt helped her down first before pulling Jaskier down after. Ciri rushed to the door and knocked, Geralt following behind.

They didn’t have to wait long for the door to open. “Couldn’t it wait. Don’t you know what time it is,” an elderly woman said. She saw Ciri first before looking at the witcher and the unconscious man he was holding. “Inside, quickly,” she said, opening the door wider for them to enter.

“Set him on that bed,” she pointed across the room. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Got dragged into the water by a drowner. He’s been coughing for the past two days. Passed out not too long ago,” Geralt explained as he lay Jaskier down.

The woman shooed them out of her way so that she could examine Jaskier. Ciri grabbed Geralt’s hand, seeking some comfort. He gently squeezed her hand back. They stood, watching the woman as she examined Jaskier.

“I’m afraid there’s not much that can be done. He needs rest and time to get better, but I can help ease his symptoms.”

“Is there nothing you can give him?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid he has an infection in his lungs. His body will need to deal with that on its own, but like I said, I can help manage his symptoms to aid his recovery.”

“He won’t die, will he?” Ciri blurted out. Geralt opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the healer.

“I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, but he is very ill.” That didn’t seem to be the answer Geralt had been expecting, just as shocked by the statement as Ciri. “Now, it’s late and I doubt you’ll be able to get a room at the inn at this hour so you’re welcome to spend the night here. I’m afraid I only have one other bed however.” She pointed to a small room leading off the room they were in.

“I’m sure we’ll manage. Thank you.” Geralt turned to speak to Ciri then. “You go ahead, I’m going to see to Roach first.”

Ciri nodded, watching Geralt as he left. She didn’t move, her eyes having drifted back to Jaskier’s still form. She jumped when the healer spoke again, forgetting she was still in the room. “I don’t think I caught your names earlier my dear. I’m Alisa.”

“I’m Fiona,” she lied. They may be relatively safe this far north but she didn’t want to take any risks.

“The witcher, he wouldn't happen to be Geralt of Rivia? The White Wolf?” Ciri nodded. There was no use in lying about that. Jaskier had done a lot of work to make sure he was known across the continent after all. "Am I correct in assuming then that this is his bard?"

"Jaskier," she said with a slight nod of her head.

Whatever else Alisa may have been about to say was interrupted by Geralt coming back inside.“I thought I told you to go to bed?” he said, mildly amused.

“We were just having a little chat, witcher. No harm done.” Alisa moved to some shelves that were packed with various herbs and jars, picking out things she thought might help Jaskier.

“Come on,” Geralt said, placing a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and leading her to the second room.

It didn’t take long for them to get settled. The bed was far too small to fit the both of them so Ciri had the bed while Geralt took the floor. It didn’t look particularly comfortable but he had found a spare blanket and pillow so it could definitely have been worse. Ciri’s mind was racing, despite her exhaustion from travelling all day. Her anxiety over Jaskier was eating her up. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” she whispered, knowing Geralt would still be awake.

“I do,” he replied. She heard him shifting, presumably so that he could see her in the dark of the room, not that she could see him. “He’s always been strong. I think he’ll get through this.” That seemed to settle something in her then, finally allowing her eyes to slip closed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know originally I said it was going to be 2 chapters but this is getting longer than expected. I do still feel that this chapter covers the day 29 prompt but it will continue for at least one more chapter, maybe two.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy seeing Jaskier on his way to recovery. There's a number of timeskips because otherwise it would be a lot of Ciri sitting around and waiting.

Ciri woke to an empty room. She was huddled in the warmth of the blankets, reluctant to get up and face the day when suddenly the events of yesterday slammed to the forefront of her mind. She shot upright, overcome with the urge to see Jaskier. She took a steadying breath to calm herself down. There was no use in getting worked up. If something had happened surely Geralt would have woken her up to tell her.

Speaking of the witcher, Geralt had vacated his place on the floor, leaving his pillow pushed against the wall with the blanket folded on top. He must have gotten up earlier and let Ciri sleep in for once. It wasn’t like they would be going anywhere any time soon.

Forcing herself to slow down, she got dressed before going into the main room. Alisa was already up, sitting by Jaskier’s side and wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. “Fiona,” she greeted, “Geralt has gone to the inn to see if they have any rooms spare. There’s some bread on the table, help yourself.”

“Thank you.” She took a fresh roll before standing by the healer’s side. Jaskier looked worse than he had the day before, skin pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. His breathing was laboured and shallow, a horrible crackling with every breath.

“I know it looks scary but trust me, I’ve seen many people look worse and still pull through.” Ciri couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or if she was just trying to make her feel better. Either way, she still hated seeing Jaskier in this state.

She sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in hers. It was uncomfortably warm and sweaty but strangely reassuring. It was a sign that he was still fighting the infection in his lungs.

She ate her bread while Alisa continued to try and reduce his fever. Geralt returned shortly after with some rather unfortunate news. “They’ve only got one room left and it’s far too expensive,” he told Ciri.

“So what are we going to do?”

“We’ll have to camp out of town.”

“Nonsense,” Alisa interrupted. “I’m not going to simply throw you out after one night. I know it’s not ideal, but you’re welcome to the second room for as long as Jaskier here needs my help. That is unless someone else needs it more.”

Geralt seemed at a loss for words. Ciri knew he wasn’t used to people treating him kindly. Normally Jaskier might jump in to speak in his place but, well, for obvious reasons he couldn’t. “Thank you,” Ciri eventually said on Geralt’s behalf.

* * *

Jaskier finally woke around midday. Ciri had spent all day at his side while Geralt had gone back out to look for work. They wouldn’t be able to pay Alisa _and_ buy supplies otherwise, as coin had already been short. The coughing came first, followed by Jaskier finally shaking himself into wakefulness with the force of it.

Alisa was by his side in an instant, shooing Ciri out of the way. She helped the bard sit upright, easing his breathing a little. When he finally managed a few ragged but measured breaths, Alisa got up and began boiling some water for tea. Ciri took her place, taking Jaskier’s hand in her own. Jaskier looked at her with bleary eyes, a small smile making its way across his face.

“I was getting worried you weren’t going to wake up,” she said, her voice small.

“And leave you to suffer Geralt alone? I think not.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, cracking on the words. Just those two sentences alone seemed as taxing as running for miles on end as he began wheezing again.

“Here,” Alisa said, holding a cup, steam gently rising from it. “This should help ease the pain.” She handed it to him, not completely letting go in case the trembling in his hands caused him to drop it. He took a cautious sip, humming appreciatively as it soothed the pain in his throat. “Let’s see if we can’t get some food into you,” she said once he had managed half of the cup’s contents. Satisfied he wasn’t about to drop the tea down himself, she returned to the kitchen where she had some kind of stew cooking over the fire.

“Where’s Geralt?” he rasped between sips.

“Looking for contracts. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Planning to stay long, are we?”

“Bard,” Alisa said having overheard their conversation, sounding mildly exasperated, “you can hardly breathe, let alone travel. I’m not letting you out of here for at least a week.”

“Well, that’s me told,” he said, draining the last of his tea. Ciri took the cup from him and placed it on the bedside table. “Thank you, my dear.”

Alisa came back with two bowls of stew a few minutes later, handing one to Ciri and one to Jaskier. “If you eat all that,” she said to him, “I’ll make you more tea.”

“I’m… not really hungry.” Ciri noticed he had paled somewhat at the sight of food.

“That’s the infection talking. When was the last time you ate a decent meal?” Jaskier seemed to consider her question but couldn’t come up with an answer. “That’s what I thought. Now, eat.”

* * *

Geralt returned at dusk. Jaskier was asleep again but Ciri hadn’t left his side. “How is he?” he asked as soon as he was through the door.

“He woke around noon. Managed some stew and a few cups of tea before falling asleep again. Fever is still higher than I’d like but otherwise he’s doing well,” Alisa said, filling him in.

“Did you find any contracts?”

“Just the one. There’s some more drowners nearby. I’m going to deal with them tomorrow, but I doubt the coin will be enough.” He seemed defeated; shoulders slumped as he sat heavily next to Ciri.

“Look,” Alisa said after a moment, “I can’t charge you in good conscience. The bard needs my help, and you need to be able to buy supplies for when you leave, correct?” Geralt nodded, slightly stunned. “So, it’s settled then.”

“No, hold on. I can’t agree to that.”

“You don’t seem to have much of a choice, witcher. I refuse to take any coin from you.”

“You’ve let us into your home, tended to Jaskier, given us food. I can’t let that go unpaid.”

“Sometimes the only reward I seek is the same number of people leaving here alive as arrived. I didn’t become a healer for the money.”

This shut Geralt up at last, unable to come up with an argument against that.

* * *

The next day Ciri woke to harsh coughing coming from the other room. She crept in, keeping to the wall as she went to investigate. Jaskier was awake, seemingly hacking up a lung while Alisa gave him a few hard thumps on the back. After a few moments of this Jaskier finally seemed to dislodge at least some of the phlegm, coughing it out in a bowl Alisa was holding, followed by a deep, ragged breath.

“Jaskier?”

He looked up, giving Ciri a small smile but didn’t quite seem able to speak just yet, going back to coughing, though no where near as harshly as before.

“It looks grim I’ll give you that but he’s alright. Just needed to clear his lungs a bit.” She passed him a mug once the coughing had subsided somewhat. He took a tentative sip, wanting to avoid choking on the drink. From where Ciri was standing, he didn’t look alright. He was still pale and sweaty, red splotches on his cheeks from fever. His breaths came in quick, shallow gasps that sounded as though he had swallowed gravel.

Ciri didn’t know what to do with herself. She wanted to at least try and make him feel better, but she was helpless. Alisa at least seemed to be on top of things. Instead of watching him continue to hack up a lung, she returned to her room to get dressed. She sat on the bed and waited for the awful noise to stop. It seemed to go on forever but she wasn’t sure she could go back out there just yet.

It was difficult, seeing him like this. She knew logically he had been through a lot in the decades he spent on the Path with Geralt, but she had never seen him injured or sick first hand. It was the first time she had been faced with he fact that things could so very quickly go catastrophically wrong while they continued to travel north.

Eventually Jaskier’s coughing ceased. Ciri waited a few more minutes before finally venturing back out. Just as before, Alisa had left bread rolls on the table and told her to help herself. Jaskier was now lying propped up against several pillows, his eyes half closed and breathing hard. The awful crackling in his chest had lessened but his coughing fit had clearly exhausted him. Ciri grabbed a roll before she took up the chair at his bedside, reaching out for his hand again.

“Hmm,” he said, opening his eyes enough to look at her. “You’re so brave, my dear.” He gave her hand a small squeeze.

“Me? I’m not the one who’s ill.”

“I know. But I know it’s not easy to watch either.” His voice was only a little more than a raspy whisper, a far cry from his usual loud, energetic self. Just those two little sentences seemed to have been too much for his lungs, unable to gather the breath to form any further sentences.

Ciri felt the sudden urge to cry. This wasn’t right. Jaskier shouldn’t be lying here like this. If she wasn’t so afraid of going into towns, they may not have even needed to take a detour through that gods forsaken swamp in the first place. They would at least have had more supplies, letting their journey go faster.

A shaking hand came up to brush against her cheek. She looked back at Jaskier through blurry eyes and realised there were tears tracking down her face. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said.

“It’s not. It’s my fault. I’m sorry,” she blurted out, burying her face in her hands.

“Ciri,” he said gently, trying to get her attention.

It worked, but probably not in the way he intended. She gave him a panicked look before glancing over at Alisa who thankfully seemed immersed in whatever she was doing in the kitchen.

“We not using that name?” he whispered then, barely more than a croak. Ciri shook her head. She should’ve told him sooner of course that here she was Fiona. Just another thing she couldn’t get right. “None of this is your fault. Accidents happen.”

“But we wouldn’t have gone through the swamp if I wasn’t so scared.”

Jaskier shook his head ever so slightly. It was probably as much as he could manage. “Geralt would have gone the long way anyway.”

Ciri wiped away her tears on her sleeve. “What do you mean?”

She had to wait a moment as Jaskier tried to catch his breath enough to speak again. Another thing that was her fault.

“Roads aren’t safe anywhere. Either Nilfgaard or monsters,” he managed eventually in stilted words. She could tell he was struggling now, his chest heaving as he fought to draw enough breath.

Alisa came over then, tutting at the both of them. “You really shouldn’t be doing so much talking,” she said to Jaskier. The bard looked like he wanted to retort but all his energy seemed to have left him. Instead he simply huffed at her and rolled her eyes, sharing a smile with Ciri, in turn making the girl smile through her tears.

* * *

Geralt was back in the late afternoon. He looked as though he’d gone rolling around in the swamp, mud and what was probably guts tangled in his hair and smeared across his armour. Alisa took one look at him and immediately shooed him back out the door. Ciri couldn’t help but laugh as the witcher stood helpless as the healer told him off for tracking mud into her house.

Jaskier, who had been napping woke just in time to see Geralt and Alisa disappear behind the closed door. “What was that about?”

“Geralt came in covered in guts and mud,” she told him, still giggling to herself about the spectacle.

“I’ve been telling him for years to at least wash the worst off before going anywhere. Honestly, it’s like he’s _trying_ to offend people.”

That got Ciri laughing again.

A few minutes later Alisa came back in, still muttering to herself about the stench of monster guts. “Is he always like that?”

“Unfortunately,” Ciri said. “Where is he now?”

“I told him to wash the worst off outside before coming back in. I’ve got a bath he can fill up himself, but if he doesn’t, he’s staying outside.”

That sent Ciri into a fit of laughter, which Jaskier ended up joining in, despite protests from his lungs. All too soon he ended up in another coughing fit. Ciri was quickly growing to hate that noise, a reminder that things were still far from normal.

He pushed himself upright with some help from Ciri to better clear his lungs. His hacking coughs showed no sign of stopping any time soon. Alisa took Ciri’s place at his bedside to thump him on the back a couple of times. This seemed to finally dislodge the worst of it and he coughed up more phlegm into a waiting bowl.

“Ugh, that’s gross,” he rasped when he finally drew in a ragged breath.

Just then Geralt reappeared. He had left his armour and boots outside and was now standing in only his shirt and trousers. He had clearly attempted to rinse the mess out of his hair, but it still looked like it hadn’t been washed for several months.

Alisa seemed to find it acceptable however and pointed him in the direction of the wooden tub, hidden behind a screen. Geralt set to work filling the tub, not bothering to heat the water over the fire in favour of simply giving it a quick blast of ingi. “That’s a useful little trick,” Alisa commented.

Geralt only gave a “Hmm,” in response before disappearing behind the screen.

Jaskier at this point had managed to get his breathing under control again, albeit in shallow gasps. He looked exhausted but did not close his eyes to sleep. The awful crackling in his chest had returned, making every breath sound painful. From the look on his face, it probably was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I feel like it's really stilted but I just couldn't get the words to come. I hope it was passably okay at least. No guarantees as to when the next chapter will be done but I promise not to abandon it.

**Author's Note:**

> Second part coming on the 29th!
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr.](https://blaidd-gwyn.tumblr.com)


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